


Talk to Me

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Short & Sweet, Sleeptalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Crowley is not happy when he learns that he confessed his love for Aziraphale while talking in his sleep.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 119





	Talk to Me

Crowley often talked in his sleep.

Aziraphale had known this for around two centuries, from the countless times the dear fellow had fallen asleep on the bookshop sofa. Because the murmurs and mutters were seldom sensible, with only an occasional recognizable word or phrase of no significance, he had never mentioned it.

Until the day after the night after they celebrated their escapes from Heaven and Hell.

“There is something I need to tell you.” Aziraphale handed Crowley a cup of tea.

His friend had fallen asleep on the sofa the night before—or more precisely, in the early morning. Didn’t really matter. The point was, he had slept, and Aziraphale had sat up nearby reading, and had heard the words Crowley spoke quite clearly.

“Whassat?” Crowley yawned. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, then took a long drink of his tea. “Hm?”

Aziraphale sat in his armchair, cradling his own cup of tea. He took a soothing sip. This was going to be a potentially charged conversation. He had considered long and hard about whether to have it at all, after what he had heard Crowley confess in his sleep. Surely such words were meant to be private, and the proper, well-mannered response was to keep it to himself. However, as those words meant something terribly important to him, Aziraphale reached the decision to bring them into the open. 

This made him a tad nervous. No point in circling the issue, though, so he said, as boldly as he could manage, “You talked in your sleep last night. Well, early this morning.”

Crowley blinked. “Ngk.” He sat forward on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, clutching his tea mug. “Ergh. What—you _heard_ me?”

“Mm-hm.” Perhaps he should have made cocoa instead. Then he could have added a decent dollop of brandy. 

“Since when do I talk in my sleep?” Crowley sounded wary.

Aziraphale pondered. Definitely tricky territory, but he was an angel, and he really ought not to lie. He sighed. “You do it quite often, my dear. Nearly every time you’ve ever fallen asleep on that sofa.”

Crowley’s amber eyes went wide as his eyebrows shot upward. _“What?”_ He set his mug down. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?!”

“I saw no need to do so, as you never said anything interesting.” He smiled. “Most of the time, your words weren’t even intelligible.” Though they had been unequivocally clear last night. Early morning. Whenever.

“Oh. Well. Huh.” Crowley relaxed a bit, and took up his tea again. “Okay, that’s good. I guess.” He took several sips. “Why bring it up now, then?”

_Ah._ Aziraphale cleared his throat. What was that unpleasant fluttering sensation in his abdomen? “Um, because you _did_ say something interesting last night.” He frowned. “This morning. I think it was two, possibly two-thirty.” He stared into his mug. “Probably doesn’t matter.”

Crowley pursed his lips. His brow furrowed. “Exactly _how_ interesting was it, Angel? You seem a little anxious over there.”

Yes, he was a little anxious. Sometimes his dear friend reacted badly to certain things…intimations of being thought _nice_ , for one…and he had fiery emotions at times. Unpredictable, mercurial. Most of the time, Aziraphale found Crowley’s excitability to be—well—exciting. Being an angel, his own temperament ran towards the calm and dull, with a strong undercurrent of fretfulness. It was _fun_ to spend time with someone who could be wild and intense, bounding with energy, willing to shout at the heavens. Aziraphale basked in the reflected flame of Crowley’s wholehearted engagement with the world.

Just not right now.

Aziraphale set his mug aside. He cleared his throat again. His fingers started twining round each other. “Well. What you said was, um, well.” He glanced upwards, as if the ceiling could somehow assist him. He had to do this—he had already made that decision last night. This morning. _Whenever_. He was determined to follow through. This was dreadfully important. His future happiness depended upon Crowley’s reaction. 

How to say it, though—that was critical. Did he simply blurt it out, or should he slowly build up to it, or— 

_“Angel.”_

“Hm?” He looked at his friend, who sat there, gently swaying, staring with those hypnotic eyes. 

Crowley sighed. “What’s so hard about this? What did I say—was it embarrassing? Did I confess that I really like _The Sound of Music_ or something?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “You never!”

“Of course I don’t! It’s a joke.”

“Ah. Yes. Right. Sorry.” Aziraphale stared at his own hands. He willed them to be still. “No, nothing like that.”

_“Then what?”_

Aziraphale took a deep breath. He steadied himself. _Now or never_. “Well, first you said my name.”

Crowley shrugged. “Not unusual. You do turn up in my dreams.”

“Oh, I do?” Aziraphale relaxed a fraction, although the fluttering feeling in his stomach did not go away.

“Of course you do. Who else is going to turn up there? Not like I _know_ anyone else.”

Aziraphale deflated a little. He had been pleased at the notion of Crowley dreaming about him, but if it was merely from a lack of anyone better, that wasn’t quite as flattering. Crowley was hardly going to populate his slumbers with waiters from the Ritz or the ice cream vendor at the park.

“No. I suppose it’s only natural for me to appear in your dreams.”

“Right.” Crowley looked perplexed. “Is that it? That’s all I said?”

“Well, um, not quite all.” Aziraphale hesitated. He really needed to get things out in the open, yet the worry over how Crowley would react remained. “You said my name several times.”

“Good on me.” The wary look returned. “What else?”

“After that, you said, ‘my best friend’.”

Crowley nodded. “Nothing but the truth there.” He took another long drink, then put his mug aside. “Now, then. Tell me the part that’s giving you an anxiety attack.”

Aziraphale smiled. He often smiled when he felt nervous. “So, yes. You spoke my name in your sleep.” 

“Yup. I got that.”

His stomach felt more unsettled than ever. “You called me your best friend.”

Crowley said nothing.

Aziraphale stopped smiling. _Please don’t let him explode_. “And then you said three more words.” He closed his eyes. This was it—this was the make-or-break moment. “They were… _I love you.”_

_Please please please don’t have an excitable fit._

His declaration resulted in a lengthy silence. Aziraphale slowly opened one eye, and then the other. 

Crowley sat there, staring at him, doing a perfect imitation of a statue.

Well, at least he wasn’t exploding. Aziraphale released a sigh of relief at that. Though of course, there was still time. He bit his lower lip. “Um. So, um, that was all. That I heard. Anyway. Er. I thought—I mean, that is—it wasn’t something I’d heard before, and I thought—well, it was just so unusual and maybe you ought to know that I heard it in case you remembered saying it and then I thought—er…not sure I should say something after all but then—” He broke off. _Oh dear._ Why was he babbling like a crazed idiot?

_“Damn,”_ Crowley said.

_Uh-oh_. Aziraphale waited for the torrent to flow.

But his friend did not erupt into emotional fireworks. Instead, he rubbed both hands over his face, and sank against the sofa back, hands dropping loosely on his lap. He frowned. “Damn, damn, _damn._ ” He smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand. _“Idiot.”_

This was not how Aziraphale had imagined the conversation going. What on Earth was going through his friend’s unfathomable mind? “Crowley? Are you—” Oh, dear. “Did you—are you _annoyed_ by what you said?”

_“Damn,”_ Crowley repeated. “I do _not_ say things like that in my sleep!”

What Aziraphale had expected was anger, denial, or some sort of convoluted explanation or excuse. What he _hoped_ for was acceptance, an acknowledgment of the truth, but Crowley wasn’t like that. He didn’t admit to _those_ sorts of feelings. But the last thing he expected was for Crowley to be _irked_ by his unconscious confession.

And that made Aziraphale feel irritated in return. “Well, you _did.”_

“Are you _sure?”_

“I am not in the habit of lying,” Aziraphale said tartly. “Nor do I have any problems with my hearing.” 

Crowley moaned. _“Ngk._ This is so bloody _wrong_. I am such an _idiot.”_

Aziraphale’s nervousness fled in the face of such impertinence. _Honestly_. His heart felt heavy as he resigned himself to the dashing of all his hopes. “Really, my dear.” He sighed deeply. “If it’s _that_ upsetting to feel affection towards your _best friend_ , then perhaps you would be so kind as to go home.”

“What? No!” 

Aziraphale felt a sniffle coming on. “I wish to be alone.” He sniffed. “You _swore_.”

“Of course I did!” Crowley waved his arms around for emphasis. “I damn well said I loved you in my _sleep!”_

“Yes, you did. Did you not _mean_ it?” That was not possible, as far as Aziraphale was concerned. Simply. Not. Possible. Yet Crowley had called himself an idiot for doing so. He felt tears well up.

Crowley groaned. “ _Gah_. You don’t understand!”

Aziraphale gave him a stony look. “Don’t I?”

“No!” Crowley leapt from the sofa in one fluid movement. “That’s not something I was going to say in my _sleep!”_ He crossed to the armchair and grabbed Aziraphale by the arms. “That’s not how I meant it to go!”

“What are you—” Aziraphale felt strong hands lift him from the armchair, and then Crowley was suddenly wrapped tightly around him. 

He stood there, utterly flabbergasted, as Crowley fiercely embraced him. Aziraphale gasped, and then he put his arms around his dear friend, relief flooding through him, all disappointment fled. “Oh, for Heaven-‘s—I mean, for Earth’s sake—oh, hell.” 

They were cheek to cheek as Crowley murmured, “I _did_ mean it! I love you, dammit. Was going to tell you today…you know, not drunk like last night…morning…whatever. Was going to say it when I was sober. And _awake_.”

_“Oh.”_ Aziraphale nuzzled Crowley’s cheek. The love was real after all. “I am such a fool.” 

“That’s okay. So am I.”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek. He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. “I was nervous because I thought you would blow a fuse—”

“I kind of did.”

“I thought you might be angry—”

“I am! I was—” Crowley pulled back a little to gaze at him with soft eyes. He touched Aziraphale’s face. “At myself. It was supposed to be _special_. Have you any idea how long I’ve been wanting to tell you that?”

Aziraphale gave this only a moment’s thought. “Six thousand years, give or take a few?”

Crowley nodded. “It’s been so bloody annoying.”

Aziraphale smiled, and not from nervousness this time. “It must have been. Did you go into denial?”

“All the time!” Crowley grinned. “Can’t be happening, must have been something I ate, somebody put a curse on me—it was _awful.”_

“So sorry.” Aziraphale was amused by these revelations. He’d been giving his poor dear friend conniption fits for _millennia_. “You tried to run away, didn’t you.” Crowley would disappear at times for many years, without a word on where or why or what he was up to.

“Yup. All the way to the ends of the Earth, to every kingdom of the world.” Crowley shook his head. “Didn’t do any good.” He rested his forehead lightly against Aziraphale’s. “I could have gone all the way to Alpha Centauri, and I would never have stopped thinking about you.”

Aziraphale was brimming with joy. In his heart, he had always known that. “I gave you so much trouble.”

“Worth it,” Crowley murmured.

“Well, just so you know,” Aziraphale said as he cupped Crowley’s chin, “it was not a one-way street.” He touched his lips to Crowley’s for a brief kiss, warm and soft and gentle.

“Ah…that’s all right, then,” Crowley said when they parted. “Still wish I’d been awake when I said it.”

“True. Then you could have heard me say it back.” Aziraphale sighed. “Perhaps we can pretend you said something else, and I _did_ mishear it.”

Crowley nodded, with a soft smile. “I actually said, ‘I love unicorns’, and the last syllable got cut off in a snore. Right?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Could be.” Then he realized that he _hadn’t_ said it back. He smiled. “By the way, I love unicorns, too.”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley darted in for another kiss. 

It lasted a bit longer than the first one, and it sent shivers of pleasure tingling up and down Aziraphale’s spine. He was filled with happiness as their lips parted. “And I love you, too.”

They stayed in their embrace for some time, until Aziraphale heard an unfortunate rumbling sound from his abdomen. No, he didn’t technically need to eat—but having indulged for six millennia now, his body had gotten used to the habit, and let him know when he forgot for too long.

He reluctantly pulled away from Crowley. “I’m afraid I’m feeling peckish.”

“Yeah.” Crowley sighed. “I know it doesn’t happen often, but so I am.”

“Shall we just pop down to the café for breakfast, then?”

“Okay. Can we pop back here afterwards? I’d like to have a long conversation about things I say in my sleep.”

“Yes, of course. That sounds delightful.”

Though, as they strolled out of the bookshop hand in hand, Aziraphale had a feeling they wouldn’t be doing much in the way of talking.


End file.
